


Without Knowing How

by i_claudia



Series: This Fast, Unreasonable Spring [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-06
Updated: 2010-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stop the car,” Arthur said. “Stop. Turn around. I’ve forgotten something.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Knowing How

**Author's Note:**

> For hermette, on her birthday. Originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/50269.html). (6 April 2010)
> 
>  
> 
> _I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz  
>  or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  
> I love you as certain dark things are loved,  
> secretly, between the shadow and the soul.  
> I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries  
> hidden within itself the light of those flowers,  
> and thanks to your love, darkly in my body  
> lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth._
> 
>  
> 
> _I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  
>  I love you simply, without problems or pride:  
> I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving_
> 
>  
> 
>  _but this, in which there is no I or you,  
>  so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,  
> so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close._  
> (Pablo Neruda, "Sonnet XVII: Love")

“Stop the car,” Arthur said. “Stop. Turn around. I’ve forgotten something.”

Merlin glanced over at him and did not stop the car. “What is it? We’re already late – do you absolutely need whatever it is?”

“I don’t know,” said Arthur, agitated. “I can’t remember. I know I’ve forgotten it, though.”

“Arthur,” Merlin replied as patiently as he could, doing a slow, silent count of all the reasons he loved Arthur even when the man was insufferable, “you’re going to be fine. You haven’t forgotten anything. Keep breathing, alright? And stop playing with your cufflinks; you’ll break one or something.”

Arthur’s hands snapped apart, and he looked uncomfortable, as if he’d been caught doing something shameful.

They drove for a while in silence, listening to the steady swish of the windshield wipers, Arthur trying and failing to keep from fidgeting. Merlin squinted at the street signs through the rain and did his best not to reach over and wrap his hand around Arthur’s fingers when Arthur started to drum them on his leg.

“It really is going to be fine,” he tried at last, when they were close. “You shouldn’t be nervous.”

Arthur straightened in his seat. “I am _not_ nervous,” he told Merlin sternly. “I am perfectly... here, here! Stop, Merlin, there’s a space right there! Where are you going?”

“There are also places to park that aren’t six blocks away,” Merlin replied, and pulled into a space directly in front of the gallery.

“It wasn’t that far,” Arthur muttered rebelliously as Merlin took the key out of the ignition.

“It’s pouring,” Merlin pointed out, but Arthur ignored him, looking up at the gallery sign hanging above them, the corners of his mouth pulled into a deep, unconscious frown.

Merlin took the opportunity to sit back and study him, the proud lines of his face and the set of his shoulder under the pressed jacket he wore. Arthur would always be handsome – Merlin suspected he would be one of those people who would somehow manage to look disgustingly sexy well after the age nature intended everyone to be wrinkled and saggy around the edges – but now, in a spotless suit and red tie with an impeccable Windsor knot, he seemed almost untouchably beautiful. His hair ruined the illusion: it was rumpled, mussed from where he’d been running his hands through it without thinking, and Merlin smiled at the sight, reaching out to smooth it flat again.

Before he could straighten it, Arthur opened the door and darted out into the rain, his head down and his strides long as he covered the short distance to the gallery door; Merlin was reminded of nothing so much as a charging army, set to do battle at whatever cost. He sighed and dug around for his umbrella, pulling it out of the back before following.

It might be a little bit his fault Arthur was wound so tightly, he supposed – he’d known this show was happening since Arthur had come home deliriously happy five months earlier, and he’d still managed to muck up his schedule so that he’d been working every day for the last week and a half, and very nearly hadn’t been able to come tonight. He hadn’t really been around to notice Arthur getting quieter as the day approached, hadn’t realised that because Arthur wasn’t saying anything about nerves didn’t mean he wasn’t tenser than he’d ever been before.

Merlin took a deep breath and opened the gallery door. He hadn’t realised earlier, but he’d make up for it tonight by being the perfect, dutiful boyfriend, and maybe talk a few people into buying Arthur’s photos while he was at it.

Arthur was talking quietly with Geoffrey, who ran the gallery, so Merlin took his time rolling up the umbrella and shrugging off his coat before stowing them in the small closet to one side of the room. The gallery was small, but it was light and airy, painted a gentle white with pale wooden floors, polished until they gleamed in the soft glow of the lights. Arthur’s photos were everywhere, bright splashes of color arranged in a deceptively casual way on the walls: Merlin had been witness to the late nights Arthur had spent diagramming where to put each, had picked his way through piles of discarded paper to where Arthur had fallen asleep over his tiny desk, drooling quietly onto his pencils, and tucked blankets around his shoulders, pressed kisses to the top of his head before retreating again.

There was a table of finger food along the back wall; Merlin drifted toward it in the vague hopes of finding coffee or at least something with sugar in it.

“Don’t touch anything,” Arthur said, coming up behind him.

Merlin turned around and tried a smile. “Not even the coffee?”

“Especially not the coffee,” Arthur replied with a lopsided smile of his own. He was playing with his cufflinks again, and the light caught on the red Pendragon crest. “You’re a caffeine fiend, and one day I will break you of the filthy habit. Besides, if you drink it now you’ll never sleep tonight, and I’ll have to put up with your cranky arse tomorrow.”

Merlin reached out and linked their fingers together. “You worry too much,” he said, raising one of Arthur’s hands and pressing his lips to the base of Arthur’s thumb, to the web of skin between his thumb and first finger. “Wasn’t it you who wanted to run off to Portugal once upon a time?”

Arthur watched him, anxious crease still dug deep between his brows. “We still could,” he suggested, too-casual. “No one’s here to miss us.”

“We could not,” Merlin scolded gently, drawing Arthur in close and straightening his tie. “People will come and they’ll want to meet the genius who took these photos. It’d be irresponsible to run off to Portugal now.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of running away to Portugal?” Arthur asked, but then the bell on the door of the gallery tinkled and he jerked around to look at where Lance and Gwen were just ducking into the gallery from beneath one enormous umbrella before he checked himself and took a deep breath. Merlin let go of him and squeezed his shoulder, and went to help Lance and Gwen with their coats.

“We wouldn’t have missed this, not for the world,” Gwen told them as Lance went over to talk to Geoffrey. He’d been the one to introduce Arthur to Geoffrey, who’d needed no further prompting to arrange the show as soon as he possibly could; Merlin had secretly bought Lance a beautiful carving knife to thank him, and pretended deafness when Arthur asked where Lance had found it.

Gwen was eyeing Arthur, who was tapping his foot nervously and staring out the window behind her. “Has he been completely impossible?” she asked Merlin, and Arthur started, looking sheepish.

“Not completely,” Merlin told her, and she laughed.

“Come on,” she said, holding her hand out to Arthur. “Before your adoring public gets here, show me around. Where’s my picture?”

“You really don’t mind I put up one of your photos?” asked Arthur as he took her arm. “I know sometimes people are touchy about things like that—”

“Would I have said yes if I minded? I love looking at me in that dress, and if my wedding dress makes you famous, you can pay me royalties. I’ll never have to work again.”

Arthur laughed as the bell tinkled again, and Merlin turned to watch more people come in. He didn’t immediately recognize any of them, and took advantage of Arthur’s distraction to sneak back to the refreshment table. If he was supposed to socialize, he was going to need sustenance, preferably in the form of something dark and hot and drinkable, no matter what Arthur said.

The bell continued to announce more and more people until the little gallery was warm, steamy from the rain-damp in the air and so many breathing bodies, and filled with the low roar of chatter. Merlin did his best to chat with people who wandered by, smiling and wondering if one could die from small talk, but he mostly watched Arthur, gleaming and in his element, moving through the crowd with an easy grace and leaving people smiling thoughtfully in his wake. He’d lost his jacket somewhere along the line; he looked relaxed and happy above all, and Merlin let himself relax, sighing a little in contentment.

He made his way to Arthur once, just to wrap his hand around Arthur’s wrist, slipping one finger out of sight up under Arthur’s sleeve.

“How are you?” he asked, murmuring just loud enough for Arthur to hear. 

Arthur slid their fingers together almost unconsciously, opening his mouth to answer, when a smartly-dressed woman behind him tapped his shoulder. “Mr Pendragon?”

“Yes?” Arthur pulled gently out of Merlin’s grip, turning to face her. She wielded a notebook in one hand and had a large, muscular man behind her with a complicated camera and dubious-looking piercings.

“My name is Vivian Farnham; I’m a writer for the local arts paper here. Do you have time to tell me a little about your show? We’re doing a piece on up and coming new artists, and we’d like to include you.”

“I,” Arthur started, looking taken aback. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

“Wonderful,” she breezed, latching onto his arm. “Tell me about your inspiration. What brought you to the world of photography?”

Merlin stepped back as unobtrusively as he could as Arthur chuckled a little and answered her. “I used to do a lot of – freelance work, I guess is the best way to put it – for a company, and ended up getting myself fired, in a manner of speaking. Photography seemed as good a way as any to start over with something I loved.”

They wandered away together, Vivian scribbling furiously away in her notebook and looking steadily more enchanted as Arthur talked. Merlin watched them go, not really thinking of anything in particular except looking, taking in Arthur even from afar: the fact that his hair had gotten long, long enough to just brush the collar of his shirt; the curving shell of his ear; the way his cufflinks flashed now and then in the light of the gallery as he gestured, making broad sweeps with his arms as he explained something.

“Close your mouth, mate,” someone said behind Merlin; “makes you look simple.” Merlin turned around to punch Will joyfully in the shoulder, and Will pulled him into something that was half hug, half merciless headlock. Merlin latched a hand onto Will’s blue tie and yanked in a fruitless attempt to break free, laughing, distracted from watching Arthur.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to show up, you big bully,” he managed as Will messed with his hair, and tried to elbow Will in the gut.

“Children, both of you,” the woman at Will’s side said, one side of her mouth crooking up into a smile when Merlin finally wriggled out of Will’s grip and scrubbed a hand across his hair in an attempt to get it back into order.

“Always have been,” he said cheerfully. “Hello, Morgana.”

“I wonder sometimes how your mothers didn’t abandon you both to the wolves,” Morgana told him. She nodded at Arthur, who was making some sort of awkward gesture with his hands, making the reporter laugh. “Has he hidden in the bathroom yet?” 

She and Arthur had a curious relationship; if Merlin hadn’t known better he could have sworn they were siblings, or cousins at the very least. It wasn’t that they looked alike – where Arthur was fair-haired and solidly muscled, comfortably expansive with his movements, Morgana was slim and far subtler, quick in tucking her dark hair behind an ear or catching the nerve on Arthur’s neck with her fingernails and making him yelp – but something about them clicked, even when they argued, which was nearly every time they saw each other.

“He has not,” Merlin replied, flicking her arm lightly in admonition. “And before you ask, yes, you’re allowed to talk to him. Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Morgana told him airily, and Merlin gave her a speaking look, trying to convey without words exactly how little he believed that. Morgana just grinned and swept off, the fabric of her dark blue dress swishing elegantly behind her as she walked.

“You realise I’m blaming you if she causes a scene in the middle of Arthur’s first show, right?” Merlin asked Will.

Will laughed. “Not my fault if your man has thin skin,” he informed Merlin, leaning back against the wall. 

“Who has thin skin?” Lance asked, popping up out of the crowd with a plate full of cheese carefully balanced in one hand.

“Will is just making my life a misery again,” Merlin told him, and Lance raised his cheeses in a misguided salute.

“Glad to see someone is.”

Merlin stuck his tongue out and didn’t answer. Lance leaned against the wall next to them, on the other side of Will, before picking up a slice of cheddar and inspecting it carefully. “He looks good, doesn’t he?” he said, and Merlin nodded. “Retirement’s been good for him.”

They never really spoke about this, he and Lance; by mutual silent agreement the past was much better left behind. It had been more difficult than Merlin had expected; he found himself wanting to know things about Arthur, just small pieces to fit into the picture he had: what he’d been like when he was younger, how he’d met Lance, why he’d started working to begin with – things that made Arthur change the subject and Lance refused point-blank to discuss. Merlin understood, he did, but not knowing was never fun.

“Yeah,” Will said, agreeing. “Guess he’s done pretty well for himself.”

“Better than pretty well, and probably about to do even better than that,” Lance told him. “I count at least four reporters and scouts here besides the one he’s talking to now.”

Will laughed as Merlin stared at Lance in disbelief. “You’re a little creepy, you know?” Will remarked. “I bet if I showed you a room full of complete strangers you’d still be able to name at least half of them.”

“Steel trap right here,” Lance said, tapping one finger to his temple. “Everyone I’ve ever met is catalogued away. Better than any computer, and impossible to hack.”

“One of these days we’ll get you outfitted for the twenty-first century,” Will told him, and Lance smiled, popping another piece of cheese into his mouth.

“I let Gwen take care of keeping up with technology fads. Me, I’m happier with paper and a filing system I actually understand.”

“What’s this about me?” Gwen asked, stopping in front of them and propping one hand on her hip.

“Just discussing how your husband is permanently trapped in the dark ages,” Merlin said, and Gwen rolled her eyes, smiling.

“I keep promising to buy him a computer for his birthday, but it was hard enough to get him to use a cell phone. I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge.”

“You are more than enough to meet any challenge,” Lance assured her, handing his plate off to Will and winding an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Get a room,” Will said through a mouthful of cheese, and Lance raised an eyebrow at him.

“As I remember, _you_ were guilty of far worse at Merlin’s Christmas party.”

“True,” Gwen recalled. “I don’t think that plant or Merlin’s mother will ever be the same.”

Will huffed out a breath. “She still sent me a cake on my birthday; she can’t have been that angry. And you’d be less sorry about the plant if you’d ever lived with Merlin and seen the absolutely atrocious way he cares for anything living. I was doing the poor thing a service.”

“Where is Morgana?” Gwen asked, craning her head around to peer out at the crowd. “You didn’t come without her, did you?”

“As if Morgana would ever let me out on my own, especially if there’s a chance she’ll be able to torment Arthur,” Will scoffed, and made an expansive motion with his arm. “She’s over there somewhere, picking on Arthur.”

“Hmm,” Lance said speculatively. “I wonder if anyone would even notice if they started killing each other in the middle of everything here.”

“Probably not,” Will said, just as Merlin answered indignantly, “I would! And anyway, aren’t you all supposed to be supportive today?”

“I _am_ being supportive,” Will pointed out, and Lance agreed.

“He has a point; usually he’s about to put something loud and smelly under Arthur’s chair.”

Merlin fought the smile spreading across his face, but couldn’t quite keep it at bay. Contentment was welling up warm inside his chest, spreading out along his arms and making him feel sleepy. He leaned his head back against the wall and tuned out the conversation, closing his eyes to concentrate on reveling in the moment.

“All kinds of people here,” Will observed after a few comfortable minutes, knocking his shoulder against Merlin’s. “That’s good, right? Wide demographic and all that.”

“You know I don’t understand you when you use all those fancy science words,” Merlin joked, pushing back at him. “Have pity on a poor ex literature student.”

Will very maturely stuck his tongue out before pointing toward the doorway. “Example,” he said. “Look at that guy. A little out of place, isn’t he? But I bet he’s rolling in money; wonder if he’ll buy anything?”

Merlin turned to look, and froze. The man did look a little out of place in the crowd, who were mostly in casually formal clothes – soft grey jumpers and collared shirts with shoes just a little scuffed – but this man was dressed immaculately, in an austere black suit Merlin would bet anything had been tailored especially for him, frowning a little as he looked around the gallery, as if something didn’t quite make sense.

“Shit,” Merlin breathed, caught off-guard completely. “Oh, shit. No way.”

“What?” demanded Lance. “Who is that? You know him?”

Merlin pushed off the wall, looking around for Arthur. “Oh, no one,” he said, his voice weirdly tight. “Just Arthur’s estranged father, that’s all. Damn it. I didn’t even know he knew this was happening.”

Will scratched the top of his head. “That’s Morgana’s boss? No wonder she complains about work all the time. He looks like he’d stab you with a sword or something if you did anything wrong.”

“You are not really helping here, Will.” There was a new knot of tension growing in the pit of Merlin’s stomach, and he took a moment to regret the last three canapés he’d eaten. His last and only meeting with Arthur’s had mostly consisted of Uther and Arthur glaring across the table at each other, knuckles going white around their silverware, while Merlin tried to shrink down as far as possible in his seat after a spectacular failure at trying to engage Uther in small talk and wondered if fork-wounds were often fatal.

There were no forks within easy reach in the gallery, but Merlin wasn’t about to underestimate the Pendragon men’s ability to inflict bodily or mental harm even without instruments of torture near at hand. He watched carefully as Uther wound his way through the crowd, clearly heading straight for Arthur, but before Merlin could see anything of their reactions to each other they disappeared behind a particularly thick cluster of older women in costume jewelry and fringed shawls, their hair blocking Merlin’s view entirely.

Merlin cursed and left the safety of the wall, ignoring when Will and Lance called out to him. How had Uther even found out about the show? Couldn’t he have let Arthur have just one day of happiness, of success, without sticking his nose in? Merlin seriously doubted he made a habit of attending anything without a VIP list and a red carpet, which meant that... 

Merlin stopped in his tracks. What if Arthur had sent him an invitation? If Arthur had invited him – and more importantly, if Uther had shown up – Merlin supposed there had been a thaw in relations, however slight, and he had no desire to accidentally derail any sort of truce that might be happening.

He found a space where he could see Arthur from across the gallery floor, and watched carefully as Uther spoke to him. Arthur’s back was to Merlin, so Merlin couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders were square and Uther wasn’t scowling, so Merlin thought he was probably safe in assuming there would be no bloodshed.

The conversation was short – Merlin would guess two minutes at the most – but when it was over Uther reached out and gripped Arthur’s shoulder, and Merlin sucked in a surprised breath before hurrying forward, slipping quickly around a family trying to sort out their umbrellas and reaching Arthur just as the door closed behind Uther.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, a little hesitant, resting the tips of his fingers just above Arthur’s elbow. “You alright?”

It took Arthur a moment to answer. “Yeah,” he said, sounding distant, before shaking himself. “Yes. I am.” He stared at the door, looking a little puzzled. “I didn’t... I sent him an invitation, or sent one to his secretary or whoever sorts his mail, but I never thought... I didn’t think he’d actually come.”

Merlin squeezed Arthur’s arm lightly, torn between gladness that Uther had deigned to show up and a quiet fury that his presence should ever be a question. “Was it a good thing?”

Arthur looked at him at last, and the final bit of tension ran out of his shoulders. “Yeah. Yes,” he said, not smiling but looking as if he might be thinking about it. “He was... yeah, it was a good thing.”

The gallery was slowly clearing, and people were stopping by Arthur now in twos and threes to congratulate him. One old man, thinning white hair brushed and swirled into a magnificent confection of a style on top of his head, pulled Arthur close to whisper in his ear, taking the opportunity to tuck a business card into Arthur’s breast pocket. 

Arthur looked surprised, then awed. “Thank you, sir,” he said quietly. Merlin had to strain to hear him. “I don’t... I’d be more than happy to.”

“Good man,” the old man said, not smiling but somehow managing to beam at him nonetheless. “We’ll be in touch.”

Merlin watched the exchange curiously, but he resisted the temptation to ask about it afterward, sliding a hand up Arthur’s back to rest it on his shoulder instead, a silent support. He could tell just by looking that Arthur was floating in a daze, somewhere not altogether in the corporeal plane, and so he waited until everyone had left, until Geoffrey had shaken Arthur’s hand and pronounced the show a success and they’d gone back out into the rain, Merlin opening Arthur’s door for him before sliding into the car behind the wheel.

They drove home in silence, listening to the rain; Merlin turned the radio on low, muted, and let the tinny sound of pop music fill the space. It wasn’t until they reached the flat that Arthur gave a little sigh, satisfied, as if he’d only then put down a heavy weight.

“So,” Merlin said, unlocking the door and trying to sound casual. “Are you going to tell me who that guy was, at the end?”

Instead of replying, Arthur wordlessly handed him the business card. Merlin squinted at it in the dim light of the flat – one of their lights had gone out, and he hadn’t replaced the bulb yet – toeing off his shoes at the same time. The card was simple, KILGARRAH GALLERIES written in bold black letters across the center with an address in smaller font underneath. 

“What is it?” Merlin asked, setting the card on the kitchen counter and shrugging off his jacket.

“Only one of the most prestigious galleries in the city,” Arthur said, collapsing into a chair. “Maybe the country, I don’t know. They want to work with me.”

Merlin turned to stare at him. “You’re joking.” Arthur shook his head, and Merlin couldn’t stop the grin stretching wide across his face. “You’re telling me after _one_ show you already have people chasing after you?”

Arthur nodded and spread his hands out, as if to show he was as baffled as Merlin. There was a new wonder in his eyes, like he was a kid who’d just discovered Christmas.

“Am I dating a rock star of the photography world now?” Merlin asked him, leaning one hip against the counter. “Are men and women going to be throwing themselves at you when you go out in public?”

“They already did that,” Arthur told him, a little of the familiar loftiness back in his voice.

“Oh, did they,” Merlin said, arching one eyebrow. “I hope you tell them you have a boyfriend. A great, huge, jealous boyfriend.”

“Well, I don’t know about _huge_ ; skinny, maybe. Sometimes he’s mistaken for an orphan waif.”

“A waif?” Merlin said, advancing on him as menacingly as he could, straddling Arthur in the chair and crowding in close. “Are you absolutely sure about that?”

“Mm, I’m sure,” Arthur said, but his voice hitched a little as Merlin settled against him. “He does get jealous, though; I tell them that. He might go on a hunger strike if I strayed, and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“Good,” Merlin said, and kissed him, sliding his hands into Arthur’s hair. Arthur kissed back hard, arms wrapping up around Merlin’s back, gripping his shoulders hard and pulling him in even closer.

Kissing Arthur was always dangerous; it was too easy to get lost in him, too easy to be pulled in until the places their bodies met was Merlin’s whole world, but he’d long since stopped resisting. He gave himself entirely to this one, let himself spill over, pressing closer and deeper, branding Arthur with lips and breath and fingers wound so deep in Arthur’s hair he wondered hazily if he’d be able to extricate them later. He didn’t know that he ever wanted to be free, didn’t think he ever wanted to let Arthur go. Arthur was warm and solid beneath him, and he didn’t ever want to move.

“I have every right to be jealous,” Merlin murmured, breathless, pulling away just a bit to drag his lips lightly along Arthur’s skin, making him shiver. “They say he’s an up and coming new artist, you know; he’s very in right now.”

Arthur huffed a laugh and slid a hand into the back of Merlin’s trousers. “Hmm, sounds like a real prince,” he said. “Definitely hang onto him.”

“I plan on it.” Merlin worked his way back along Arthur’s jaw, marking a trail of soft kisses before blowing a slow, hot breath over his ear that made Arthur hiss and arch his hips up, just a little, seeking. Merlin reached for Arthur’s tie, trying to wrestle it apart without pulling away to look, and ended up sitting back anyway, glaring at the damned knot while Arthur laughed.

“I think you’re making it worse,” said Arthur, who was being completely unhelpful and running his fingers in a thoroughly distracting way up underneath Merlin’s un-tucked shirt. “You could find a better use for your time somewhere else.”

“Could I,” Merlin said, not a question, drawing back to fix Arthur with a stern look. “I hope you’re not insinuating anything scandalous, Mr Pendragon. This is a very professional, upscale establishment, I’ll have you know.” He slid off of Arthur’s lap and down to the floor, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thump. He ran his hands up along the insides of Arthur’s thighs toward where Arthur’s cock was pressing up against the slick fabric of his trousers.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, pitching his voice low as he tugged Arthur’s shirt free and started undoing the bottom few buttons – just enough to get at the skin underneath, trace the pale line of hair running down from his belly button and out of sight.

Arthur squirmed under the light touch, and Merlin went for the fastening of his trousers, pressing his lips to the exposed skin as he undid the zip and slowly worked Arthur’s hips free, pushing the trousers down to Arthur’s ankles and off.

Arthur wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and Merlin made an involuntary, choking sort of squeak at the discovery.

“Told you I forgot something,” Arthur said, reddening slightly but a little smug, too, and Merlin lost no time in letting him know exactly what he thought of that idea. Arthur grabbed at the table in a sudden, gratifying way when his cock hit the back of Merlin’s throat, and Merlin pulled off slowly before licking a broad stripe up length of Arthur’s cock, root to tip, and turning his attention to Arthur’s balls.

Arthur had always been deliciously responsive to Merlin’s touches, but Merlin secretly loved when he tried to keep himself contained, tried to bite back the soft, involuntary sounds he made as Merlin worked. Each abortive movement, each hissed breath felt like a victory, and Merlin savored every one, dragging his fingers and tongue over every sensitive spot he’d ever found, trying to pull a moan out of Arthur.

When Merlin tugged at Arthur’s hips, moving him to the edge of the seat, Arthur let out a shuddery sigh and slid forward, and when Merlin pressed a line of kisses up his thigh, up and in, Arthur let his legs open easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Merlin pulled back to look at him without pausing, using one hand to work Arthur’s cock while he stroked farther back with the other, fingers just brushing the tight muscle of Arthur’s hole, making Arthur shiver again.

“Merlin—”

Arthur was starting to look debauched already, his tie only half-undone and his shirt askew, a familiar desperation growing behind his eyes. Merlin shushed him, then bent forward, concentrating on taking him apart the rest of the way. He feathered light touches along the insides of Arthur’s thighs, pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses along the join where Arthur’s legs met his hips, taking his time while Arthur sighed and bit back groans and fluttered his fingers along Merlin’s skin where he could reach: asking, entreating without words.

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hair at the first touch of Merlin’s tongue against his hole, fingers curling in tight before he rethought the move and slid his hand down to the join of Merlin’s shoulder, holding on as Merlin flicked his tongue along the hot skin, pressing his tongue deeper on every stroke and humming a little in approval at the tremble starting to shake Arthur’s limbs. He could feel his cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers, rubbing against the seam, and he took a hand away from Arthur to stroke himself through the cloth, closing his eyes briefly against the sensation.

“God,” Arthur managed. “Merlin, I—”

Merlin cut him off with an expertly-placed finger, sliding it in deep and smooth, crooking it just slightly, just enough to make Arthur jerk a little, slip further down in the chair and spread his legs wider. “Merlin—” He reached for his cock, and Merlin batted his hand away, pinning his hips with his free hand. Arthur’s cock was dark, making damp spots against his stomach and his shirt, and Merlin leant forward to press a messy kiss to the base of it, his lips slipping easily up along it until he could flick his tongue delicately just beneath the head, tasting. Arthur’s hips jerked instinctively at that, and Merlin readjusted his grip, holding Arthur firmly down as he opened his lips around Arthur’s cock and slid down, down as far as he could manage before pulling back and adjusting his angle, pressing the flat of his tongue along the underside of Arthur’s dick and taking Arthur back in, working steadily now. Arthur was making breathy, futile noises now, caught between Merlin’s mouth hot on his cock and Merlin’s finger deep in his arse, stroking mercilessly, opening him.

“What would your adoring public say if they could see you now?” Merlin asked when he finally pulled off, his voice low, rasping a little in his throat. He added another finger with a deft twist, pushing it slow into the tight heat of Arthur’s body before drawing out both fingers, working them back and forth as Arthur twisted in the chair, restless, unable to get quite enough from what Merlin was giving him but powerless to get more. “If they could see you like this, like I see you?”

In answer, Arthur grabbed the front of his shirt, eyes bright and face flushed as he hauled Merlin up into a possessive kiss, pushing deep to taste Merlin, to taste himself on Merlin’s tongue. Merlin clung on and kissed back, spit-slick fingers sliding along the skin of Arthur’s neck. 

“You are... you’ve got too many clothes on,” Arthur growled, yanking at Merlin’s tie with expert fingers and fumbling with the buttons of Merlin’s shirt until he could shove it down off of Merlin’s shoulders. A few buttons went bouncing off into corners of the room as Merlin did his best to help, thrashing a little until the shirtsleeves let go of his wrists and he could touch Arthur again, help Arthur with his own shirt and tie. There was a tingling on the soles of his feet and up his back now, pulling his nerves tight with anticipation; he needed to run his hands all over Arthur, dig his fingers into Arthur’s skin and watch the redness bloom and fade across it.

Arthur stood before Merlin could get the shirt off of him entirely, and between the two of them they barely made it to the hallway, Arthur manhandling Merlin, pulling him along and taking the time to push him up against a wall and kiss him again, thoroughly. He undid Merlin’s trousers in a rush, reaching in to wrap a hand around Merlin’s cock and dragging his thumb across the head, and Merlin tipped his head back against the wall, shoving his hips forward into Arthur’s grip.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Arthur said, pressing close and running one hand up Merlin’s side, closing his teeth on Merlin’s earlobe and tugging gently before licking his way down Merlin’s neck. Merlin rocked his hips forward again, seeking, and an involuntary _ah!_ pushed its way out of him when Arthur opened his hand enough to close around his own cock as well, stroking them together.

“Couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight,” Merlin admitted, levering his head upright with effort. “Couldn’t stop watching you if I tried—oh, _oh_ , that do that again, yeah—”

They almost fell in a heap when they tried to move, Merlin’s ankles tangled up in his trousers, and he hung off of Arthur’s shoulders for a precarious moment while he kicked them off entirely, losing a sock in the struggle. Arthur responded by bending over, which confused Merlin for about half a second before Arthur was slinging him over a shoulder and carrying him the rest of the way into the bedroom and dumping him onto the bed.

“Bully,” Merlin accused, laughing, and yanked Arthur down onto the bed on top of him.

Their bodies fit together just so, sculpted by time and familiarity, by a hundred nights spent in the same bed until they formed two halves, until their arms and legs and hips slotting exactly together. Arthur pressed Merlin deep into the bed, fingers hot around Merlin’s wrists and dick searing where it’s lined up along the crease of Merlin’s thigh; he rocked his hips forward and Merlin arched up to meet him, opening his legs and rubbing his foot along the back of Arthur’s calf in silent encouragement.

Arthur had to let go of his arms when he sat up, retrieving the lube sitting out on the little table next to the bed, and Merlin took the opportunity to reach up, scrape his fingernail gently over Arthur’s nipple to make Arthur curse and catch at his hands again. 

“Behave,” Arthur warned as Merlin wriggled under him, laughing as he tried to escape Arthur’s grip. 

“Have to make me,” Merlin challenged, and avoided him by grabbing for the lube, slicking his fingers and running them low along Arthur’s belly, tracing the bone of his hip before reaching back to press at the ring of muscle around Arthur’s hole, opening him up again.

Arthur shoved his hips back against Merlin’s fingers even as he stroked Merlin’s cock with one hand, slicking him. “Cocky bastard, aren’t you,” he asked, and before Merlin could respond he’d grabbed Merlin’s hands, pulling them away and pinning them again as he positioned himself and slid down on Merlin’s cock, taking him in one swift, fluid movement.

“Oh fuck,” Merlin swore, thumping his head hard onto the mattress, entirely swamped with heat and want and Arthur, tight around him. “Oh fuck, _Arthur_.”

Arthur went slowly at first, agonizingly so, and Merlin made noises somewhere between mewls and words, pushing up with his hips fruitlessly until Arthur slammed back down, driving the breath entirely out of Merlin’s body with the sensation of it.

Arthur let go of Merlin’s wrists, leaning forward and bracing himself on the headboard as he began moving faster, and Merlin fisted his hands in Arthur’s shirt, holding on as Arthur rode him in earnest, fucking himself on Merlin’s cock, all divine heat and pressure threatening to swamp Merlin completely. Merlin rocked his hips, thrusting hard and fast to meet Arthur; he could feel sweat collecting in the small of his back, feel a fizzling, twitching energy filling him, sweeping him up and carrying him along, driving him forward faster and faster. Words kept leaking out of his mouth, whimpered _yes_ es and _fuck, fuck, Arthur, more, oh fuck_ – Merlin’s mouth was never filthier than like this, the taste of Arthur still heavy on his tongue with the words, Arthur’s breathing growing more and more ragged in his ear.

“Merlin,” Arthur was saying, groaning, “Jesus, Merlin, feels – oh fuck, oh God...” and Merlin reached blindly down to grip Arthur’s dick with a shaky hand, trying to time his strokes with Arthur, but Arthur was moving faster, his head dropping down and his movements going jerky and tense until he gasped for breath, shoved his hips back and forward, and came all over Merlin’s chest.

Merlin’s mouth opened in a silent wail at the feel of it, of Arthur clenching hard and close and searing hot around him, and the air caught in his lungs in a tight sob as he drove his hips up, desperate to come, to finish before Arthur had a chance to catch his breath, to compose himself. Arthur hung onto the headboard and took it, making broken noises that were half uneven groan and half Merlin’s name until every muscle in Merlin’s body pulled tight and he tipped over, spilling deep into Arthur’s body with a wail.

They lay tangled together, catching their breath, before Merlin finally pushed at Arthur’s shoulders and Arthur lifted himself up off of Merlin gingerly, rolling off to flop over next to Merlin, trapping Merlin’s arm.

Merlin grunted in protest and wriggled until Arthur’s head was pillowed on his shoulder instead and he could reach around to run his fingers through Arthur’s sweat-damp hair. The rain was still coming down outside, a steady muted drumming against the windowpanes, and it made him even sleepier; all he wanted was here, in Arthur and their warm bed, a cocoon against the outside world.

Arthur hitched one knee up over Merlin’s leg. “Gonna be famous,” he said, drowsily delighted, like it was just now sinking in. “Can you believe it?”

“Mhmm,” Merlin agreed, closing his eyes. “Very famous. You’ll take the world by storm.”

“You’ll have to have an official title, you know. If you’re going to be in my entourage you should have a title; famous people always work like that.”

Merlin chuckled, deep in his chest, and let his eyes close. “I’ll be your kept man, how’s that?”

“Only if I can keep you forever.”

Merlin pretended to think about it, turning his face away from Arthur into the pillow to hide his smile. “Yeah, alright. Forever’s fine with me.”


End file.
